As I opened the door a low voice advised me to close it at once. Since I was looking into the wrong end of a revolver, and that weapon was in the hand of a very urgent person, I complied with the suggestion. The man behind the gun was Boris Bothwell.
"Hope I don't intrude," I apologized, glancing at the disorder in my stateroom.
The floor was littered with papers, coats, collars, ties, and underwear. Drawers had been dragged out and emptied, my trunk gutted of its contents. Evidently the captain had been engaged in a thorough search of the cabin when my entrance diverted his attention.
"Not at all. I was hoping you would come," he answered pleasantly.
"Perhaps I should have knocked before entering, but then I didn't expect to find you here."
"I came on impulse," he explained. "I had reason to suppose you would be busy for an hour or two. By the way, Evie is entertaining. Did I ever mention to you that it is my intention to marry her?"
"I think not."
"Ah! Then I make a confidant of you now. Congratulate me, my friend."
"Is this an official announcement?" I asked.
"Hardly official, I think. The lady does not know it."